


all for the love of you

by liketheroad



Category: Trinity (TV 2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of going to Charlotte in 1x02, Ross goes to Jonty. Midnight getaways ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all for the love of you

Jonty clears his throat and sits up straighter in his desk, preparing himself to do what is necessary to calm Ross down. Typically, a light slap or a press of his lips will be enough to bring Ross back to himself, but this time, Ross speaks before Jonty can do either of those things.

“If I asked you to, right now, would you come away with me? If I told you I had to leave but I couldn’t say why - couldn’t take the time to explain, only to say that it’s dreadfully important and I’d like you with me - would you come?”

He’s grinning, manic, eyes alight, but there’s no mistaking the serious undertone of Ross’ words. Jonty stands quickly, crossing his room to get his hands on Ross, one on Ross’ shoulder, the other cupping his face. He kisses Ross, once, quickly, efficiently, and then turns away from him, moving just as efficiently about his room, gathering supplies.

He can feel Ross’ uncertainty, radiating off of him as he hovers just a step behind Jonty, shadowing his every movement.

“Am I packing for warm or cold weather?” he asks, tossing a distracted look over his shoulder as he rummages in his dresser for the bare essentials. He sighs a little at the golden waistcoats he’ll surely be leaving behind, pausing long enough to run his finger once along the fine line of brass buttons on his favorite blazer before unceremoniously stuffing a handful of socks into his duffel.

Ross doesn’t respond to his question, and given that this seems to be a matter of some urgency, Jonty continues packing without his aid or instruction, filling his bag with his most comfortable, sensible clothing. It makes for a rather pitiful collection - the mundane and functional have never been his forte, but it’ll do for the foreseeable future.

Satisfied, he turns back to Ross, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Do we have transport or will we be on foot?”

Ross stares at him, open mouthed, and Jonty shakes his head impatiently. “Don’t look so surprised. If you’re leaving, what else am I do but follow?”

Ross grins at that, his own grin, sweet and familiar, not like the mad, stranger’s smile that has stolen all too frequently across his lover’s face of late. Jonty kisses him again, an absolute necessity that the urgency of their cause must allow for, and then he takes Ross’ hand firmly in his own, and they make their way together down the college’s most unused corridors, out into the night.

\---

Ross _does_ have a car waiting for them, it transpires. It looks to be one of the club’s private vehicles, and Jonty takes a silent moment to apologize to Dorian when he gets closer, and realizes it’s his favorite Rolls Royce.

“Bit conspicuous for a midnight getaway, don’t you think?” he chides, sliding into the drivers seat all the same.

Ross glances at him nervously, wide-eyed and tight lipped, and Jonty sighs again. If they’re going to be followed, they’ll need to change cars quickly, but the Rolls can take them as far as the nearest township they’re unlikely to be recognized in, at least. Whomever has Ross so frightened, whomever may be after them is irrelevant, at least for now. They’re at the college, whomever they are, that’s all he need know to be determined to put as much distance between themselves and the grounds as possible.

He drives with that purpose in mind, keeping to the dirt roads long abandoned by most computers and faculty, the parts of his mind not focused on driving busy formulating a more long-term plan of action. He came into his inheritance on his 21st birthday, and much of that has since been funneled into private Swiss accounts. Ross has little personal fortune of his own, beyond what his family’s good name has been able to afford him, and Jonty takes a moment to be grateful that his own family is perpetually greedy and secretive enough that it hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary that he’d squirrel away most of his own wealth in untraceable accounts. Such tactics were meant to protect him against grasping relatives and the insufferable tax man, but Jonty supposes that they’ll serve him just as well on his new life on the lamb.

They drive in silence, occasionally interrupted by Ross’ involuntary, erratic humming of that blasted “Daisy, Daisy” song. Whenever he starts up again, Ross’ knee will start vibrating along with the tune, violently enough to shake the car, but all it will take is Jonty’s hand on his knee and the movement will stop, the singing along with it.

They go for hours like that, until the sun is rising and they’re near out of petrol. Down one of the country roads, Jonty finds a small, inconspicuous cottage that looks to be unpopulated, and he parks the Rolls in the woods behind it.

They abandon the car and make for the cottage, hands bound as they march towards the ramshackle structure. Ross stands guard whilst Jonty checks the windows of the darkened house, and, once satisfied, Ross watches nervously over his shoulder while Jonty cuts through the screen-door with his penknife, slipping his hand through and unlocking the door.

They go inside and Jonty checks the pantry for supplies whilst Ross paces in the front hall. From the thick layers of dust he finds everywhere, Jonty counts them lucky that he’s able to find any food at all, even if it is it just tinned beans and soup.

He lets out a triumphant shout when he locates tea, and celebrates the spirit of his people while boiling the water he’s amazed still runs from the rusted tap of the kitchen sink.

“Are you really not going to ask me why we’re doing this?” Ross asks somewhat desperately, wild-eyed again, when Jonty returns to him with a cup of freshly made tea and a can of cold beans.

Jonty smiles thinly and takes a sip of his tea. It’s too weak for his liking, the leaves stale, but he’s heard people say that beggars cannot be choosers, and he supposes that’s what they both are, at least for the moment.

“Jonty--”

“Ross,” he cuts in smoothly. “Were you in danger?”

Ross nods sharply.

“And you needed to leave the college to be safe?”

He nods again.

“Then that’s all I need know, at least for now.”

Ross opens his mouth to protest again, but Jonty holds up a restraining finger. “Drink your tea. Eat your delicious supper,” accompanied by a rueful wink, “and once we’ve both caught our breath, you may explain.”

Ross’ lips quirk up in a fondly exasperated smile, and Jonty hides his answering grin in his cup of beggars tea.

\---

Ross’ reprieve lasts longer than their meager supper, all the way until they are wrapped up together in the artificial dark of the attic, bodies pressed close in the twin bed they found there.

They lie as they always have; spooned together, Jonty’s arms wrapped around Ross, his chin resting on the dip of Ross’ shoulder.

“This is terribly selfish of me,” Ross admits in the still darkness. “I meant to go alone, or stay and let them have me, finish me off, but I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again, or leaving without you ever knowing why.”

“What would they have done to you, if you stayed?”

Ross makes a pained, hysterical sound, and says, “Killed me, I think. They would have had to. Maybe they should have.”

“Hush now,” Jonty reprimands gently, when Ross starts gulping in hiccuping gasps of air. He kisses Ross’ hair and neck soothingly, rubbing his hands up and down Ross’ arms.

It works, for a moment, and then Ross starts twitching, trashing out of Jonty’s touch, babbling, “I’m not safe, Jonty - I don’t even understand what’s happening to me and I can’t control it - I could hurt you - could--”

“Enough of that, now, babe, enough,” Jonty orders, more harshly this time. Ross still instantly, and Jonty allows himself a brief, smug smile. “You see? I’m perfectly safe. You won’t hurt me.”

“But I have - I’ve hurt people and I didn’t even mean to, my body moved without my permission and I don’t--”

“I’ve always been able to stop you, haven’t I? Trust me, babe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Or me.”

Ross laughs, brokenly but not without some genuine humor. “If I can trust anything, I suppose it’s your dedication to your own self-preservation.”

Jonty smiles triumphantly and kisses Ross’ hair for good measure. “I look after myself. And I look after what’s mine. And woe betide anyone or anything that tries to get in my way.”

\---

In the morning - or more accurately, the late afternoon - Jonty wakes up with a headache and a hard-on. The former is likely due to the fact that the only foodstuffs he’s digested in the last 24-hours were some very sub-par beans, while the latter is directly related to the warm body pressed against him.

Always one to prioritize, Jonty ignores the headache and lays a slow trail of kisses down Ross’ abdomen, rewarded by a low moan and a proprietary hand sinking into his hair as he continues his journey downwards. Jonty does his job quickly, applying mouth and hand judiciously, and soon Ross is coming, hands tightening painfully in Jonty’s hair, moans becoming louder, even as years of adolescent fumbling in boys dormitories have trained him to be silent. He sags against Jonty helplessly when he’s through, and Jonty licks his lips in satisfaction. His own orgasm comes only moments later, when Ross takes him blindly in hand, moving in a steady, relentlessly motion as Jonty stutters for breath, face pressed flat against Ross’ collarbone.

They pull apart some time later, and the now setting sun casts shadows against Ross’ face as Jonty regards him from a propped up elbow.

“Now you can tell me, I should think,” he says, confident that Ross’ afterglow will keep him calm long enough to get the story out without incident.

And so Ross does. A lot of it doesn’t make any sense - but it’s obvious that Ross doesn’t have enough information himself to make things any clearer. In the end it comes down to the Dean, that horrible muppet Doctor Cooper, and a lot of nonsense about needing to breed a new calibre of soldier to save the world.

“And that’s you?”

“That’s me, or it was meant to be. I’m not the first - not by a long-shot, I don’t think, but they thought they had the formula right, this time. Or at least that’s what they told me.” He shakes his head bitterly. “I suppose that’s what they told all of them. But it went wrong - it’s _gone_ wrong, inside me, like it did all the other times, and they were going to terminate me, I know they were - after I almost killed that boy - they had to.” He shakes his head. “And I probably should have let them. But,” he shrugs desolately. “As I said. I was too selfish.”

Jonty kisses him, hard, almost brutal, and says, “I wouldn’t have you any other way. Quite literally in fact. So I’ll hear no more of that remorse and whinging from you, understood?”

Ross nods, a little shakily, but he’s a man of his word, and Jonty will hold him to that promise.

\---

They make an inventory of the cottage, gathering what supplies Jonty thinks might be useful, and before they set out, they have another meal of cold beans and weak tea.

As they eat, Jonty finally feels compelled to ask, “Why on earth did you agree in the first place? Even if they did assure it was all safe - why would you volunteer to be experimented on and,” he waves an exasperated hand, “ _altered_ in this manner?”

Ross turns away, shamefaced, and the shock of red on his cheeks is surprising enough, in itself, for Jonty to catch his chin and pull him back sharply.

“What is it?” he demands.

Ross hangs his head, but answers obediently. “It wasn’t for any of the right reasons - not the ones they tried to use to get me to agree. They talked about nobility, duty, about the importance of the project, about saving the sodding world. But I didn’t care about any of that. I pretended I did, but I didn’t. Not really.”

“Then what did you care about?”

Ross smiles at him, sadder than Jonty has ever seen.

“You.”

“Me?” Jonty sputters. “Why should I care? What could have made you think I would have wanted any of _this_?”

Ross shakes his head, breaking out of Jonty’s hold, looking away again. “They said that it would make me stronger, faster... _better_. And I wasn’t - I wasn’t enough, before. On my own.”

“What on earth are you on about?”

Ross turns back to him, another staggeringly sad smile on his face. “It was only a few months after I began at Trinity that they approached me. I was already on the rowing team, already a Dandelion, and I was healthy, relatively fit. A good candidate. And when they told me what would happen - the good changes, anyway, they conveniently left out all the bad, of course - well, I saw a way to get what I wanted.”

“And that was me?” Jonty prompts uncertainly, still not understanding how the pieces fit together.

Ross nods. “It was. From the moment I saw you - I wanted you. Wanted to be yours. But I was just another fresher. Even among the Dandelion’s, I wasn’t enough for you to notice me, for you to pay attention. I knew, for that to happen, I had to stand out - had to be the best. It was never anything but the best, for you, and if I wanted to be yours, I had to be perfect, had to be more, don’t you see? More than I was, just by myself.” His smile turns bitter, now, as he says, “And it worked, didn’t it? I bulked up, started winning races, drawing attention to myself, and then finally you saw me, do you remember? That first time? After I won the Trinity cup? You looked at me, then, you _saw_ me, and so I kept it it, kept working, kept letting them do whatever it was they wanted to do to me, just so you’d keep liking what you saw.”

Jonty can’t breathe, for what seems like an impossibly long time, but when he finally manages to suck in a ragged breath, the air comes back out of him sounding like a sob.

“You’re an idiot. An utter, utter fool. I always saw you - always. I saw you that first day, at lunch, in the hall, saw your perfect mouth curve as you spoke the prayer flawlessly, saw the way you smiled, afterwords, shyly pleased with yourself for getting it right when it was your turn. And I saw you everyday after that, in the halls, in the club, on the grounds, and in my mind, whenever I closed my eyes, there you were, with me. I talked about you endlessly - it nearly drove Dorian mad, those first few weeks especially. I thought he was going to ring my neck - or possibly kidnap you and present you to me, gagged and wrists bound, like a human sacrifice.”

Jonty sees Ross chuckle, despite himself, despite the shock that has drained all the color from his face. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Jonty smiles darkly. “Neither would I. But you see - it wasn’t the rowing, wasn’t the new superhero physique. It was you, it was always you. Your sweet smiles and foolish, disarming shyness. Your compassion, overflowing out of your stupidly pretty eyes. It was the way you held doors open for anyone, even ugly girls or ones from the lower classes, the way you held your tongue when someone insulted you but leapt to the defense of any of your friends. It was the way you spoke Latin beautifully, but seemed to only want to use it in prayer. Your obviously cleverness, and talent, hidden beneath all that unnecessary Christian humility.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose ruefully before going on.

“You didn’t make any _sense_ and I found myself wanting to protect you, to let you keep on being as naive and as kind as you somehow were, despite your upbringing, despite it all. I’d never wanted that for anyone, before, never wanted to care for someone like that, to stop them from getting hurt, to keep the world from doing its worst. And that’s what made me act - that and my reasonable fear that if I didn’t do something soon, Dorian would have. You were changing, hardening, with every race, and even though it was glorious to watch you win, it was the relief in your eyes I treasured most, not the triumph, at the end of every race. That’s when you seemed most like yourself, when you would take a private moment to smile at the sky, to be grateful, instead of smug, or proud, as you had every right to be.”

He leans forward, close enough to press his forehead against Ross’ as he concludes, “So you see, you were already perfect, just as you were. And I loved you, even though I’d never loved anyone, or even thought myself capable of it, before you.”

Ross makes a small sound, like grief, like defeat, but like victory, too, and Jonty kisses him, because he has to.

“You were always mine, my Ross. And I loved you. But I should have shown you better, I shouldn’t have made you wait. I’m sorry,” he whispers against Ross’ lips, a plea for forgiveness he would never ask of anyone else, because just like Ross is the only thing he’s ever loved, he’s also the only person who is worth more than Jonty’s pride.

“I’m sorry too,” Ross whispers back, and in their kiss, they give each other absolution.

\---

They leave the Rolls, and travel on foot until they reach a small hamlet where they’re able to procure a room for the night and a warm meal.

Ross washes their clothes in the sink and Jonty calls Dorian on the Dandelion’s private line. Not many people would consider Dorian trustworthy, but he and Jonty have been as close to friends as either of them have ever had since they were young boys, and there are some bonds that won’t be broken, not even in times as uncertain as these.

Dorian answers on a the second ring, spluttering in shaken surprise at the sound of Jonty’s voice. “Good god, man! They told us you were dead!”

“ _Dead_?” he repeats keenly, eager to know what story is being told to cover up their disappearance.

“Very much so! The line Doctor M has been giving to the media and faculty is that Ross was emotionally unstable, and that he snapped and murdered you and then killed himself in some kind of homosexual suicide pact. The college is in an uproar, obviously, and Ross’ horrible brother is about, trying to stir up sympathy and somehow profit from it all. I like his spirit, but no one is particularly inclined to donate to the murders’ memorial fund. The Jonty Millington Trust is much more popular, you’ll be happy to know.”

Jonty laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation, which of course is what Dorian intended, and in that moment, he is overcome with gratitude, with affection for his president, his friend.

“I hope you’ll donate handsomely.”

“Of course. All the club’s social budget for the year is being spent on your wake. Or it was going to be, that is. I suppose I’ll have it call it off, now.”

There’s something leading in his tone, a promise being offered, and Jonty doesn’t hesitate before taking advantage of it. It’s why he called, after all.

“Don’t. Go ahead as planned. You haven’t heard from me, and you never will, as far as anyone else can know. We’re getting away - it’s terribly important and all that, real life and death stuff, you understand. Silence is of the essence, as is time. I won’t bore you with the details, but I do need to ask one favor of you, and you’ll just have to be a sport about it, eh?”

“You already took my favorite car, if I’ve guessed right, what else could you possible ask of me?” Dorian grouses, forestalling his inevitable agreement with some requisite complaining.

Jonty makes an impatient sound, and Dorian demands, “Oh, what is it?”

“We need a fresh start, new identities, the whole nine. I need you to give me the number of that chavy fellow who used to do up your fake IDs when you were slumming it in London over the summers back when we were at Eton.”

“That was years ago, I don’t even remember what he was called, never-mind how to reach him!” Dorian protests, clearly offended by the implication that he should ever have been expected to remember someone so far beneath him.

Jonty bites back a sigh, he’d feared as much. “Someone else then, similarly... inclined. I can’t go to anyone I know, and I’m trusting you not to let anyone think to check the people you know, but we need this, Dorian. We need passports and birth certificates and they need to look authentic enough to get us out of the EU. I can manage from there, but I need this leg up to get us moving.”

Dorian mutters a long but refined stream of obscenities, but finishes with a deeply aggrieved, “Oh _alright_ , have it your way. I’ll need a day or two to sort out the details, more, actually, because I’ll have to make a show of planning your wake and being nobly grief-stricken about the tragic loss of my vice president so no one gets suspicious, but I should be able to find someone who can get you what you need. Lucky for you, Rosalind has been half-packed for her own tropical getaway since she was about 13, she should be able to help.”

“You can’t tell her why, Dorian, you can’t tell anyone,” he hisses urgently, gripping the phone painfully tight.

“Obviously,” Dorian scoffs, sounding insulted again. “How will I reach you, when the time comes? I imagine I’m not allowed to know where you are?”

“No, I’ll call again in three days time, unless something happens. Four o’clock. Can you have everything ready by then?”

“I’ll certainly try,” there’s a long, weighty paused, filled with worry and thanks neither of them will express, and then Dorian adds a carefully aloof and emotionless, “Give my regards to your traveling companion,” and switches off.

Jonty removes the receiver from his ear, and looks up, aware of his surroundings once more, to find Ross watching him anxiously.

“He’ll help?”

Jonty nods. “As best he can, and it’s Dorian, so it’ll be a matter of personal pride that he finds us the best this country’s criminal element has to offer.” He smiles bracingly, trying to exude the confidence he doesn’t quite feel, but still believes is Dorian’s due.

Ross nods warily, and Jonty motions him over to his side, pressing his face into Ross’ hip once he’s close enough.

When he withdraws, he feels clam enough to grin and brightly announce, “In the meantime, everyone thinks you’ve murdered us both horribly, so we’re in alright shape. The wrong people will still be looking for us, of course, but at at least there’s a story our families might believe. Luckily my inheritance is hidden from friend and foe, so I can withdraw the necessary funds without raising any alarms. We’re stuck here for a few days, but it should be long enough to buy a car and get some new clothes, and if Dorian comes through, it’ll be worth the risk of staying put.”

He’s up on his feet as he relays this information, pacing purposefully back and forth, and Ross watches him, trusting, almost servile.

“You can object, you know. You know more of what we’re running from than I - if you don’t think I’m taking the necessary precautions you should--”

“No, it’s fine. It’s the best we’ve got,” Ross shakes his head ruefully. “You make for a rather excellent criminal mastermind, is all. It’s... well, I suppose I should find it more surprising than I do, but the truth is... I knew you'd be good at this, just like you're good at everything you put your mind too. I just feel, guilty, I suppose, knowing that I would never have gotten even this far without you, knowing you'd never be in this mess at all if it weren't for me."

Jonty claps him on the shoulder decisively and dismisses the apology on Ross’ lips with a shake of his head. “If it’s your mess, then it’s mine. And if I get to keep you safe and with me, then nothing else matters, no cost is too great.”

“And if something goes wrong? If they catch us, or I... go mental?”

“Won’t happen. We’re far too clever to be caught and I’m far too greedy to let you lose your mind, I like it just where it is, safe inside your pretty little head, alright? Just trust me.”

Ross’ answering smile is breathtaking in its sincerity. “I do. You, and no one else.”

Jonty smiles too, kissing him quickly. “That’s right. It’s just you and me now, against the world.”

Ross laughs, “Well, you, me, and Dorian, apparently.”

Jonty grins. “I can fight the whole world for you, babe, but if you want me to defy all of civilization _and_ Dorian at once, I’m afraid not even I would be likely to come up the victor.”

“We’re lucky he’s on our side, then.”

“Yes, we are, quite lucky indeed, all things considered. And what luck we don’t have, I intend to beg, borrow and steal.”

Ross grins sheepishly at that, his eyes still betraying his guilt and uncertainty when he jokes, “All for the sake of half-crazy old me?”

“No, Ross,” Jonty corrects firmly, kissing his forehead, “all for the love of you.”


End file.
